


Come Fly With Me

by theSapphireSky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ADVENTURE AWAITS!, Awesome Molly Hooper, Cabin Pressure AU, Captain Sherlock Holmes, F/M, First Officer John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-13 02:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 12,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11749770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: A Cabin Pressure Sherlolly AU: Come fly the (sometimes) friendly skies.





	1. June

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand and one thanks to lilsherlockian1975 for being an amazing Beta and keeping me on track. You're the best, Lil! Any mistakes that are there are mine. The whole story is complete and will be published regularly.
> 
> I own neither Sherlock nor Cabin Pressure. A fact that saddens me greatly

**JUNE**

**_Bing Bong_ **

_‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are now beginning our descent into London. Put away your tray tables and return your seats to the upright position or I will come back and do it for you imbeciles who cannot follow a simple direction.’_

**_Bing Bong_ **

_‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I would just like to apologize for the Captain’s curt manner. If you would like to lodge a complaint, you will find a pamphlet in the back of the seat in front of you with the phone number and email of our C.E.O. who will gladly add it to our growing list. Thank you.’_

oOo

Mycroft rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Seven, Sherlock. Seven complaints from a flight of 15 passengers during a 1 hour flight from Amsterdam.’

Captain Sherlock Holmes smirked. ‘My best yet.’

‘It’s not something to be proud of, you twat,’ John snapped beside him. The First Officer crossed his arms and glared at his friend. ‘You’re going to put us out of business if you keep going on like this.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, John,’ Sherlock waved his friend’s concerns off with a dismissive hand. He stood and straightened his fitted uniform. With a wink and cluck of his tongue, he spun on his heel.

Standing and leaning his arms on his desk, Mycroft leveled a firm glare on his baby brother’s back. ‘Shape up, Sherlock. I’m not above firing you. Or hiring somebody to keep you in line; someone who doesn’t encourage your unseemly behaviour.’ At that, he gave a knowing look at John, who had the decency to turn his head in guilt.

Sherlock paused at the door. But then, with a silent scoff, he whipped open the door and strode out of Mycroft’s office, confident that his elder brother would not follow through on the weak threat.


	2. July

**JULY**

The screeching of tires and the stench of burning rubber filled the air. Mycroft wearily raised his head from filling out paperwork and looked out into the hangar just as two cars burst inside; a blue 4-door on the bumper of a black BMW. 

In a haze of smoke, the cars squealed to a stop and the drivers got out. Sherlock, in his uniform without a single hair out of place, smiled arrogantly and made a show of locking the doors, the lights flashing and the beeps echoing in the tall space. 

‘You cheating bastard!’ John cursed and slammed his door shut. ‘No shortcuts, that was the deal. And you took the alleyway on Beacon!’

Sherlock rolled his eyes. ‘The same shortcut you took last week, John. Fair is only fair.’

John, unable to offer a reply, simply huffed and lumbered away. 

oOo

Sherlock hurried across the tarmac to where Mary Morstan was ushering the passengers onto the plane. Obviously as a favour for her boyfriend, MARTA’s First Officer and their very own John Hamish Watson. There would be no other reason for her to be here on what is usually her day off from her regular work as a Flight Medic. Sherlock shoved his way in front of the queue and stormed up the steps. Mary rolled her eyes as he passed her and shot her a wink and a smile.

‘Took you long enough,’ John quipped as the door to the cockpit opened. He looked back over his shoulder and smirked. ‘Diffusing again?’

Sherlock shut the door behind him and dropped into his seat, shooting his First Officer a haughty glare. His uniform was pressed neatly and tailored perfectly to his lean figure. A Captain’s hat was perched atop his (diffused) curls and he was ready to get going. They’d been given a long weekend and he had been driving his landlady up the walls with cabin fever. 

‘Status?’ He barked.

‘Flight plan logged, passengers boarding, and coffee brewing,’ John reported.

‘If you call that swill you brew ‘coffee’ one more time, I’ll drown you in it,’ Sherlock snapped wittily. 

John rolled his eyes. ‘Ha ha.’

They continued their pre-flight routine in companionable silence until John looked out onto the tarmac.

‘Who’s that with Mycroft?’ 

Sherlock paused in the process of checking the radio calls and followed John’s gaze to the two figures walking toward them on the tarmac. 

A petite woman was hurrying along to keep up with Mycroft’s fast, long stride, a hand clapped to the top of her head to keep her hat on in the wind. 

‘No idea,’ Sherlock muttered. But he had a sinking feeling in his gut his brother’s threat to hire someone to ‘keep him in line’ was no longer idle.

His instinct proved correct when Mycroft brought her into the cockpit to introduce her. Sherlock didn’t look up from his flightplan, but saw John turn around from the corner of his eye.

‘Molly Hooper,  MARTA’s  Captain and First Officer, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Molly has graciously accepted the flight attendant position.’

John stood, his head just brushing the sloped roof, and shook her hand with a genial smile. ‘Pleasure to have you on board.’

‘Thank you. I’m excited to be here.’ 

Her voice was bubbly and overly confident, definitely nervous, but trying not to show it. 

The atmosphere suddenly felt expectant and Sherlock felt all three pairs of eyes fall on him. He lifted his head and slowly turned his head. Compared to the towering, currently hunched, Mycroft, Molly Hooper was tiny. Her petite frame was still another four inches below the sloped roof. Her features were rather elfin; she had a pert nose and thin lips, brown eyes, and a bright smile.  

A cherry-printed scarf was tied neatly around her neck and matched the blouse peeking out from beneath a navy blazer. Sensible loafers donned her feet and she wore a smart, sensible pencil skirt. Her brown hair was plaited and hung down her back, not a hair out of place, and a hat sat neatly atop her head. 

All in all, she was not the type of flight attendant Sherlock had expected Mycroft to bring aboard. She was nothing at all like their previous attendant, Irene. Flashy, seductive, in a pencil skirt with a slit that threatened to undo the whole thing, and with an annoying habit of handing out her number to every married man to enter the cabin. 

They had all breathed a sigh of relief when she quit unexpectedly on a stop-over in Karachi, disappearing seemingly from the rest of the world. The only issue was, they were now down a flight attendant, which left Mycroft to play the dual role of C.E.O. and drink server.

Something the elder Holmes did not take to kindly. 

And neither did their passengers. 

Realising he had been staring for quite some time, Sherlock turned back around and resumed his pre-flight check, tossing out what could be taken as a hello in the form of a grunt. 

But a pair of molten chocolate eyes stayed with him all the way through take off.


	3. August

**AUGUST**

Anthea looked up from her control panel and spun around when the door to the tower opened behind her. She cocked an eyebrow and pursed her lips. ‘You cannot be up here,’ she said coolly and turned her back to the door once more.

Undeterred by the dismissal, Mycroft strode into the open room; the rising sun cast gold and red warm hues across the switchboards and illuminated the side of Anthea’s face. He saw how she was struggling to keep her face stern and uninterested, but the twitch of her lips gave her away. 

He trailed his fingers along the cold console until he stood beside her and then covered her hand with his. Her typing stopped and she raised an eyebrow.

‘I had a wonderful time last night,’ Mycroft said softly. 

Anthea huffed. ‘Of course you did. It was your turn to pick the outing.’

Mycroft twisted his features into a mock scowl. ‘And a fine choice it was! The Opera is one of the finest forms of entertainment. Though perhaps not quite as popular as those hooligan noisemakers you subject your ears to on a regular basis,’ he sneered in reference to her favourite pop bands.

‘Just for that,’ Anthea snapped playfully and removed her hand from under his, ‘you will be joining me at their concert at Wembley next month.’

Horror upon horrors! Mycroft stared at her in dismay.

Anthea smirked. ‘Consider it payback for making me sit through five hours of screaming Italians.’

Then, with a wave of her hand, she shooed him out the door. ‘The rest of the crew will be here soon, so you’d better leave.’

Still reeling from the announcement of his impending doom, Mycroft moved listlessly toward the door. They hadn’t even made it to the third date and she was already wrapping him around her finger. 

A smile spread across his face.

And damn it all, if he wasn’t enjoying every second of it.

oOo

They were halfway through their flight, a perfect ascent completed, when the door to the cockpit opened and Molly popped in with a bright smile. John, having ceded control to Sherlock for this flight, turned to her with a smile.

‘Hi, Molly.’

‘Hello boys,’ she greeted warmly. ‘I thought you might want something to drink so I made a fresh cuppa.’ She lifted up two mugs of coffee, which they gratefully accepted. Sherlock took one sniff and a hesitant sip. His eyes slid closed and he savoured the rich flavor as it slid smoothly down his  throat. Perfection.

John breathed in the curling steam and groaned appreciatively. 'If it’s half as good as it smells, I’m diverting to Gretna Green and marrying you on the spot, Miss Hooper.’ 

A scowl crossed Sherlock’s face and he ignored Molly’s flustered, pleased reply in favor of another sip. Suddenly, the liquid tastes bitter and sharp. 

He grimaced and shoved it back toward her without turning around. 'If I wanted crap coffee, I would have made John make it,’ he snapped. 

After a moment, she quietly took the cup back from him. 

‘Sherlock,’ John scolded him and turned around to apologize to Molly for the Captain’s curt manner. Sherlock held himself rigidly and did not give in to the temptation to turn around. He knew he would see her big brown eyes filled with hurt and immediately take the coffee back and down it in one go. 

If he let her, this new flight attendant could be his downfall.


	4. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad you are all loving this little adventure! I will be uploading a chapter a day, hopefully in the morning if I can remember. :)

**SEPTEMBER**

**_Bing Bong_ **

_ ‘Good evening and all that tedious nonsense. Basically, we will be flying from London to Venice, with an approximate flight time of 2 hours, unless we happen to hit a bird or two, in which case we will go down in a fiery blaze and the life preservers beneath your seat will do nothing to save you, regardless of what anyone-’ _

**_Bing Bong_ **

_ ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to sincerely apologize for the Captain’s tactless address. We do not expect any bird strikes. Please enjoy your flight and direct any and all complaints to the number on the pamphlet in the seat back in front of you.’ _

oOo

‘Welcome aboard.’ Molly stood at the top of the stairs, greeting each passenger with a sweet smile and ushering them inside. She was exceptionally cheery, albeit a bit awkward, and never failed to put even the most unsettled or agitated passenger at ease. 

Sherlock had worried that the sweet, petite woman would be a pushover for their numerous heavy-handed passengers who looked down upon whom they considered to be ‘the help’. But Molly took it all in stride and after the first few months, she’d proven to have a backbone of steel and a wit that defied Sherlock’s expectations.

Until Mr Lewiston. 

Mr Lewiston was a burly man with beady little eyes and sweat dripping down his temple who was trying to flee the country and, by happenstance, chose MARTA on which to do so. His agitated, sweaty appearance had not raised any flags with the idiots in customs, but the moment Molly saw him coming across the tarmac like a thundercloud, she was on guard. The soon-to-be-caught criminal pushed his way to the front of the queue and shoved his papers at Molly. His hands shook terribly and his eyes were fully dilated.

Molly smiled brightly at him, determined not to set him off. ‘Welcome ab-’

‘Shut it and bring me a coffee. Now!’ he demanded. 

Molly dropped her smile, but maintained a pleasant tone. ‘If you’ll find your seat and stow your bag, once everyone is seated, I will be happy to bring you a coffee.’

‘No, sweetheart,’ he snapped and grabbed her arm. ‘Now!’

Sherlock, hearing the exchange, immediately jumped to his feet and threw open the cockpit’s door, his heart hammering wildly when he heard a pained shout and a loud thump. Molly was a delicate, petite thing and his mind was bringing forth all sorts of gruesome ways this man could harm her. He had to help her.

Only… she didn’t need any help. 

Utterly unruffled, Molly was perched atop an unconscious beast of a man, his face planted in MARTA’s carpet and his right arm twisted around his back. Her legs were tucked to the side neatly and she was unfazed by how peculiar a sight she made.

‘I do apologize for the commotion,’ she said calmly, accepting the papers of a wide-eyed woman. She glanced at the information and handed them back up to her with a guileless smile. ‘Seat 7; three rows back, left window. Please watch your step.’

The woman smiled bemusedly and maneuvered around the strange obstacle. 

Sherlock gaped, his heart returning to normal. Behind him, John had also run out, intent on doling out harm to whomever laid a hand on their friend, and was now trying not to laugh outrageously. 

Molly flicked her head around and looked up at them. ‘Oh, hello boys! If you would be so kind, I have some baggage here you can toss out. And you might want to call the police before we take off. I would hazard a guess that his checked baggage is also full of whatever he’s currently on.’

Sherlock fell against the bulkhead in relief. 

His Molly was amazing. The thought came to him suddenly and he paused. 

_ My _ Molly?!


	5. October

**OCTOBER**

‘One Direction.’

Sherlock pursed his lips in thought. ‘Film.’

‘Wrong!’ John crowed. ‘Band. That’s 7-to-6, in my favour.’

‘You made a few lucky guesses,’ Sherlock mumbled. John opened his mouth to call the Captain a bloody hypocrite, but Sherlock was already working on his next one. ‘82. Alkaline.’

‘Erm, Gold?’

‘Gold? Seriously, _gold_?’ Sherlock turned to his First Officer in horrified bewilderment. ‘If this is the evidence of the public school educational system, our country is in poor shape, indeed. It’s Lead, John. Lead. Pb, atomic weight of 207.2, between Thalium and Bismuth.’

‘Oh, yes, because _everyone_ knows that!’ John sneered.

Sherlock retorted, ‘Just like everyone knows the One Dimension band.’

‘Everyone does know!’

‘What’s the score?’ A voice behind them interrupted and they turned to see Molly peering in.

‘7-to-7, last round to Sherlock,’ John replied. ‘Care to do the final honours?’

Molly bit her lip and thought for a moment, a wicked gleam in her eye. ‘Okay, then. Glee.’

Sherlock hesitated. The name was familiar. Had she mentioned it before? She must have. He licked his lips and answered, ‘Telly.’

John huffed and crossed his arms. ‘Unfair, Molly. You know it could be considered either band or telly.’

‘Yeah, but how often does the Skipper win these?’ She giggled and pressed a kiss to John’s un-behatted head to appease the pouting man. She smiled at Sherlock. ‘Nice guess.’

With a flick of her ponytail, she left them once more. The silence in the cockpit was tense and John looked over at Sherlock curiously. ‘You okay, mate?’

‘Fine,’ Sherlock snapped and busied himself running a diagnostic.

‘You sure? I mean, if it bothers you to win on a technicality, I can-’

‘I said I was fine!’ Sherlock snapped and shot his friend a glare that would crumble a lesser man.

John raised his hands, as if physically backing off, and they resumed the flight in silence.

Sherlock didn’t know exactly why he was feeling so beastly. It wasn’t the game, it wasn’t the smile Molly had sent him, it wasn’t anything he could put his finger on. But something in his stomach had clenched when Molly kissed John. And he didn’t like it.

oOo

The last of the passengers had left and Molly was finishing up the post-flight cleaning while the boys filed the paperwork when a man entered the hangar. Sherlock looked up and immediately assessed the man. Average height, black hair combed back with a copious amount of gel, engineer, and currently making a beeline for their favourite Flight Attendant.

Before Sherlock knew it, he was on a path to intercept.

'Jim, hi!’ Molly brightened when she saw the man and abandoned her cleaning to bounce down the stairs and greet him with a kiss.

‘I have a few minutes free and thought I’d drop by and say hey,’ the lilting Irish voice grated on Sherlock’s nerves. Piercing black eyes looked past Molly to Sherlock. Noticing that Jim’s attention had shifted, Molly turned to see Sherlock approaching like a thunderstorm and stepped back.

Gesturing toward this Jim, she said to Sherlock, 'Captain, this is my boyfriend, Jim. He’s an engineer at Fitton. Jim, this is Captain Sherlock Holmes.’

If she was expecting Sherlock to make nice with the sleazy weasel currently with his arm around Molly’s waist, she was very much mistaken. In less than a second, Sherlock noticed the way Jim’s look was more than a little appreciative of his Captain’s uniform (flying around the world had given Sherlock a pretty good radar for anyone of either sex who found him attractive.)

Jim stuck his hand out. 'Molly’s told me so much about you.’

Sherlock stared down at the hand disdainfully and sniffed loudly. Coconut hair gel. 'Gay.’ The word escaped before he could stop it.

'What?’ Molly drew back. To Sherlock’s unease, a smile flashed across Jim's face.

'Sorry,' he said dryly. 'I meant, hey.'

'Enough mindless drivel,' the imperious voice of Mycroft interrupted them. 'Those of you who are not in my employ,' at this he leveled a soulless smile upon Jim, 'do please scurry along.’

Jim quickly kissed Molly's cheek, sending a wink to Sherlock when Molly had her face turned. ‘Still on for dinner tomorrow night?’

Molly nodded, but Sherlock could see the hesitation. ‘See you then.’

'Miss Hooper, if you wouldn't mind, I need a word with the Captain.'

Molly, seething red, cast one last dirty look at Sherlock before whipping around and running back up the stairs in the plane.

'Emotionally compromised, brother mine?' Mycroft taunted.

Sherlock simply scowled and stormed outside, slamming the door shut behind him.


	6. November

**NOVEMBER**

‘Is it safe to come out?’ John asked, peering out from behind the curtain to the galley when the sound of the hoover stopped. Molly gave him a mock scolding look as she wound the cord.

‘You’re a grown man, afraid of a cleaning machine?’ 

‘It’s not so much the machine as it is the cleaning,’ John shuddered. 

Molly laughed. ‘Don’t let Mary cop on to that! She’d put you on cleaning duty for the rest of your lives.’

John waggled his eyebrows. ‘Oh, but for her, I would bravely take up my hoovering cross.’

Their laughter was interrupted by the sound of the hangar door sliding open. They exchanged a look before hurrying to the window. The airport closed hours before when dusk had fallen and no one remained but them. Had they not procrastinated in their cleaning duties, they could have left several hours before.

Crouched on the seats, they peered out into the dimly lit hangar and watched as Mycroft entered, dressed in jeans and a linen suit jacket with a…

Dear  _ God,  _ the man was wearing a tee-shirt!

And on his arm was the ATC Commander, Anthea, her hair piled high in a ponytail and wearing a sweater dress. She was smiling, something neither Molly nor John had ever seen grace her face, and Mycroft was speaking softly to her, his hand covering hers on his arm. 

Anthea waited while Mycroft disappeared into his office for a moment, then reemerged, carrying his valise and trench coat. He offered her his free arm once more and she giggled, slipping her arm through his, but held back when he started to walk. Their faces were shadowed and Molly and John pressed their noses against the window glass, trying to make out what was happening. 

Anthea leaned up on her toes and whispered something, to which Mycroft smiled softly and bent down to kiss her tenderly.

Molly and John both looked away, not wanting to intrude on the intimate moment. Soon the hangar door was sliding close behind the couple and Molly and John each fell back in their seats. 

‘Mycroft and Anthea?’ John looked over over his shoulder at Molly in disbelief.

Molly shrugged and smiled. ‘Stranger things have happened.’’ 

oOo

‘Adjusting heading, dropping 400 feet.’

Sherlock grudgingly followed John’s lead, regretting having agreed to give him control on this flight. They were 3 hours in with 5 to go and he. Was. Bored.

So bored. So very very  _ bored _ !

If he had control, at least he could  _ do  _ something. But no way would John cede control to him. 

Just to break the monotony, he pressed the flight deck service bell. Seconds later, Molly entered the cabin. 

‘Please tell me we are almost home.’ She asked pleadingly. 

John shot her a sympathetic smile. ‘Sorry. Still about-’

‘No!’ She raised her hand and grimaced. ‘Don't tell me how much longer, it will only make me sadder.’

‘How are the passengers doing?’ Sherlock asked.

Both John and Molly stared at him. 

‘What? Is it so strange for me to ask after the well-being of our clients?’

‘Yes,’ they replied in stereo.

Huffing, he rolled his eyes and petulantly pursed his lips. ‘Fine. I want a cup of tea.’

Molly raised her left eyebrow. ‘You do?’

‘With a bit of milk and some lemon, yes.’ He frowned at her disbelief. ‘I don't survive on just coffee, you know.’

Beside him, John snorted. ‘I think she wants you to say the magic word, mate.’

Sherlock blinked. 

‘You know, the word that generally comes before or after a request, or in your case a demand.’ 

Still, Sherlock stared. 

Molly placed her hands on her hips. ‘It's  _ please _ , Skip. Have you never heard of it?’

‘Ah.’ Slightly abashed by his forgetting basic manners (not that he ever used them outside of strict necessity), he covered himself and gave her his sweetest, sincerest smile. ‘May I please have a cuppa, Molly?’

To his surprise, instead of rolling her eyes, a faint blush stained her cheeks and she looked almost surprised at his sincerity. ‘S-sure. Anything for you, John?’

‘Coffee, please,’ the First Mate said gratefully. ‘Lots of coffee.’

‘Right-o, back in a mo,’ she said and disappeared back into the galley. 

John eyed him strangely. ‘Were you flirting?’

‘Of course not, don't be an idiot,’ Sherlock snapped. 

John pursed his lips and turned back to the controls. ‘Just seemed a bit like flirting to me.’

‘Just because you have flirted with anything that breathed across all seven continents, doesn't mean the rest of us have that same inclination.’

John opened his mouth to give a crushing retort (no doubt), the door opened and Molly walked back in.

‘Coffee for you, John,’ she said and handed him his cup with a smile. Then she turned to Sherlock, her eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘And tea for the Skipper.’

He looked down at the tray in her hands. A cup of steaming tea sat on it, milky white, and a whole lemon rolled about next to it.

Taking both, he scowled. ‘And just how do you expect me to get the lemon juice out?’

‘Get creative,’ she replied. Her lips disappeared as she tried to hold back her laughter, two dimples appearing on her cheeks. Before he could reply, she turned around and left the cockpit, her long braid swaying jauntily.

John, of course, thought the whole thing was humorous and wouldn't stop chuckling. 

‘Oh, shut up,’ Sherlock snapped. The lemon was useless to him now. He took a sip of the tea and pondered it. A bit sweet, missing the tartness he liked from the lemon, but not bad.

Tossing the lemon in the air, he took another sip and caught it. Then he paused.

He swallowed the tea and eyed the lemon in his hand.

‘Say, John. Would you be up for a little game?’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was only supposed to be that first bit with Molly and John...I went to post it and thought it was not only much too short, but I need to add in the Traveling Lemon.
> 
> So happy you all are enjoying this!


	7. December

**DECEMBER**

‘Fitton Tower, this is Mike Tango Alpha, inbound from Paris requesting clearance to land.’

‘Ay, MARTA! Good to see you flying around up there. Couldn’t find yourself a man-plane in Paris then?’

‘Guillermo,’ Sherlock snapped at the ATC’s second in command. The man was a jokester and constantly driving Sherlock’s sanity to the edge; but there was no one else, aside from Anthea, at ATC that would take their single airplane airline seriously. Or even semi-seriously. ‘Just put us in the queue and shut up.’

The silver-haired ATC commander was good-natured and always took Sherlock’s jabs with either a fond sigh or a hearty joke. ‘Weeell, I could put you in the back of the queue. Or I could put you in the front… if Sherlock sings me a happy Christmas song.’

John guffawed beside him, ignoring Sherlock’s quelling glare. 

‘Absolutely not,’ Sherlock bit out. 

‘Aw, not even one little chorus of  _ Jingle Bells _ ,’ Lestrade prodded. John, noticing Sherlock’s normally low level of tolerance was depleted, and wanting to not be barred from landing at Fitton for the rest of eternity, cut in before Sherlock could say anything else.

‘Lestrade, if you would just put us in the queue,’ he quickly spoke. ‘The Captain’s had a bit too much holiday this year.’

‘Understood.’ The ATC officer complied. ‘Take two circuits and you are cleared to land on runway 7.’

Sherlock heaved a breath and gripped the controls tightly. He just wanted to land the damn plane and forget this trip ever happened.

oOo

**ONE DAY EARLIER**

**Rented Hangar in Paris**

A rushing white noise filled his ears and he was acutely aware of his heart thumping against his ribs. The words seemed to taunt him. 

**Merry Christmas, Sherlock. Love, Mollyxxx**

Instead of cowering in embarrassment, Molly stood tall and leveled a hurt, righteously angry stare on him.

Sherlock stared down at the beautifully wrapped box and swallowed thickly. He felt the weight of all eyes upon him, most heavily hers, as the silence stretched.  

Then, without a word, Molly turned and walked away, the clip of her heels each like a dagger to his heart. Mary shot Sherlock a withering glare before hurrying after her friend.

‘Well done, little brother,’ Mycroft drawled as he drew up to Sherlock’s side. ‘In less than ten seconds, you have managed not only to make a fool of yourself, but hurt Miss Hooper far deeper than even  _ I  _ could have expected of you.’

Sherlock ignored the jibe and instead elected to leave the dwindling festivities and sought sanctuary in MARTA’s cockpit. Here, in the silence, in the one place he felt most at home, he dropped into his seat and stared at the gift in his hand. 

_ Miss Hooper has love on her mind...compensating for the size of her mouth and breasts...shall we expect a happy announcement soon? Dear ol’ Jim waiting at home right now? _

He closed his eyes and tried to erase his own horrible words from his memory, but they only seemed to grow louder. What had he been thinking? He kept speaking rubbish until he flipped over the tag and realised that the idiot he thought she had fallen for was not Jim, who apparently had been out of the picture since the ‘gay’ fiasco. No, the idiot she’d fallen for was  _ Sherlock _ .  

_ Idiot, indeed _ .

His hands shook as he undid the ribbon and slid his finger under the wrapping paper, revealing a white box. He frowned, unable to deduce what was inside. A first.

Lifting the lid, his eyes went wide. 

Nestled in a cloud of tissue paper was a Captain’s hat. Not just any Captain’s hat, but a stunning piece of art. The black fabric was clearly of highest quality and the gold braid that stretched around the front was polished to perfection. The embroidered wings were impeccable and Sherlock could not find a single imperfection.

Picking it up reverently, he settled the hat on his head and tugged it down, smiling at its perfect fit.

The shimmer of the gold, glittering ink on the tag caught his eye and he picked up the tag. He brushed his thumb over the words so carefully written. Before he could talk himself out of it, he tucked the tag under the Captain’s stripes on his left shoulder. 

_ For safe keeping _ , he told himself.


	8. January

**JANUARY**

**_Bing Bong_ **

_ ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we do so hope you enjoyed your flight from Limerick to London and had an absolutely, ooey-gooey lovely time-’ _

**_Bing Bong_ **

_ ‘I would like to apologize for the Captain’s commentary once more. We are currently in a holding pattern above London and will be setting down momentarily. Until then, my belated Christmas gift to you is taping the Captain’s mouth shut.’ _

oOo

It had been weeks since that disastrous party. Molly had put in for vacation and disappeared for the New Year. Sherlock feared she would choose not to return. 

So it was with great relief that he looked up from his flight plan that Monday morning at the sound of footsteps and saw her enter the hanger. The tightness across his chest eased and he breathed easily for the first time in weeks. She didn’t spare him a glance as she walked across the wide room. 

‘Good morning, Molly,’ he called over to her. 

Her gaze was cool as she glanced at him, a small brief smile on her face. ‘Morning.’ He saw the moment she did a double take, staring at his hat. He smiled to himself. He hadn’t worn it to get back in her good graces (although that was an added benefit), but because it was a superb cap. The gold embellishments gleamed and it sat perfectly snug atop his head. 

Her smile warmed and in answer his cheeks did as well. 

Before he could say anything else, the door to Mycroft’s office opened and Molly turned expectantly. 

‘Miss Hooper,’ Mycroft greeted her warmly and with a kiss to her cheek. 'I trust you enjoyed your vacation.’ 

Molly beamed. 'I did. It was lovely, thank you. But I’m very glad to be back.’ 

'Good to hear. Because we have been utterly lost without you.’ 

Sherlock snorted. Mycroft was laying it on so thick, it was sickening. They both turned to look at him and he cleared his throat.

‘It is nice to have you back, Miss Hooper. Having Mycroft serve as flight attendant has significantly increased the number of complaints we’ve been receiving.’

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but Molly laughed softly. ‘I’m sure it was less about Mycroft’s service than it was about the Captain’s.’

Sherlock smirked. Maybe they could go back to normal, after all.


	9. February

**FEBRUARY**

‘Coffee, gents,’ Molly greeted them brightly, much too cheery for an early morning flight. Sherlock took the cup with a smile; Molly had the amazing ability to make even these bad mornings seem bearable. 

‘Oh, god!’ He grimaced and barely managed to swallow the sip of overly sweet coffee. ‘That’s vile!’

John sniffed his, then leaned over and swapped their cups. ‘That’s mine, mate.’

Behind them, Molly giggled. ‘Whoops, must have gotten them switched.’ Sherlock turned around to glare at her, seeing through her innocent tone, but the cockpit door was already closing behind her.

‘Devil woman,’ he grumbled and took a sip of his proper coffee. Perfection.

If he didn’t appreciate her ability to brew the perfect cuppa, he’d have words with the mischievous flight attendant. It seemed she still hadn't quite forgiven him for his thoughtless words and was getting her revenge in little, unexpected ways.

oOo

February was, by far, the worst month for flights in Sherlock’s expert opinion. It seemed an inordinate number of people decided that it would be romantic to get married during this so-called ‘month of love’ and they were completely booked for Hen Nights and Stag Dos until the end of the month. 

After sending off a charming group of men back to their homes following a spectacularly decadent weekend in Greece, everyone was pitching in to help Molly clean up the disaster they’d left in their wake. 

‘Oh,god.’ Molly gagged as she used the handle of her broom to pick up a pair of boxers, drenched in stale beer. 

Mycroft stared at the offending item as if it had personally insulted him. ‘I shall be following up with them regarding the loss of their deposit. And I’ll make sure they compensate for the extra cleaning we are having to do.’

Everyone stopped what they were doing and glared at the CEO, whose contribution consisted mainly of pointing out rubbish they missed under the seats. For a moment, John thought he might actually have to block Mary from pouncing on the man. 

‘Yes, we can all see how you’re suffering,’ Sherlock snarked and hefted his bag of empty bottles onto a seat, the glasses clanging loudly. 


	10. March

**MARCH**

She was a formidable opponent. But he was better. Sherlock drew the plastic cup toward his face, swilled the liquid around, and sniffed it loudly before taking a sip. He licked his lips in thought.

Fruity. A hint of peach. Likely a Gewürztraminer, a 2012 from Germany if they wanted specifics. He wrote down his answer on the napkin and flipped it over. Across from him, Molly crossed her arms and smirked.

'You're wrong.'

He snorted. 'I'm never wrong.'

Standing over her friend's shoulder, Mary quirked an eyebrow.

'About wine,' he amended with an abashed blush.

John laughed. 'Well, let's see whether or not that's true. Contestants, flip over your answers!'

Sherlock did so and gestured grandly for all to take a gander at his win. Mary, the appointed moderator, looked over their answers. She bit her lip to hide her smile. 'Congratulations-'

Sherlock preened.

'-Molly,' she finished with a laugh.

Sherlock frowned. 'What?' He snatched Molly's napkin.  _Sauvignon Blanc. Loire Valley. 2009._ He scowled. 'Impossible! That is a Gewürztraminer!' He lunged for the wrapped bottle in Mary's hand and ripped away the cloth.

Sauvignon Blanc. 2009.

Damn.

Mary and John were laughing heartily at his befuddlement. Molly at least had the courtesy to smile apologetically. 'Next time, yeah?'

'Yeah, whatever,' he pouted.

'Oh, Sherlock, don't be like that.' Mary sidled up to him with a knowing smile. 'Besides, you need to start practicing smiling even when you don't want to. That's what a good air steward does. And now you get to be one.' She squished his cheeks. 'For two whole weeks!'

'Fmphgoff,' he mumbled.

Mary tsked. 'Language, Captain Holmes.'

oOo

'Oh my god, oh my god,  _oh my god!'_

Sherlock and John both turned around as the door to the cockpit flew open, then slammed shut as Molly burst inside. She leaned back against and was desperately hissing nonsensical malarky.

'What's happened?' Sherlock abandoned the pre-flight check and went to her.

Molly was shaking slightly and had a look on her face he'd never seen before. It was something between terror and rage, her eyes were wide and wild, darting back and forth before landing on him with a desperateness that evoked a protective instinct in him.

'It's my ex-fiance, Tom!' she whispered. 'He's here, on this plane,  _right now_ , with Helen, that, that  _slag_  he cheated on me with!' Her head dropped back against the door with a thud and she closed her eyes with a groan. 'Oh  _god_ , and I have to serve them! Why me? What horrible person was I in some former life to deserve this?'

Sherlock's brow furrowed and he drew up to his full height, or as close as he could with the sloped ceiling. He placed his hand on her shoulder and locked eyes with her. 'I'll handle it.'

She blanched in surprise and stumbled forward as he yanked open the door and ducked out. He heard John say something and knew the two of them were following, most likely to watch what was about to happen from the galley.

The passengers were still settling in their seats. He scanned the rows until his gaze landed on a couple in the far back row. The man had curly hair, but clearly did not know how to handle it, for it was frizzy and cut strangely. Even sitting, Sherlock could tell he was about as tall as himself, but lankier. And leaning over his arm was a beautiful woman. Her platinum blonde hair was faux-straight and her makeup was overdone. A large diamond sparkled on her ring finger. No tan line yet and slightly ill-fitting, so a recent development. Sherlock looked closely at the woman, then smirked to himself.

_Ah, yes. Too easy._

'Good afternoon,' he greeted as he approached them. The couple looked up at him in surprise. 'Captain Sherlock Holmes. How are you enjoying the flight?'

The couple shared a confused look, before Tom looked back up at him. 'Um, we haven't started flying yet.'

_Idiot._  'Yes, well pointed out.' He smiled hollowly. 'However it has come to our attention that you are celebrating a recent engagement. Congratulations! You must be very happy.'

Tom visibly puffed out his chest. 'Yeah, we are.'

Helen beamed and looked at her fiance with a sickeningly dopey smile. ' _Very_  happy.'

Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he adopted an excited expression and leaned down to their eye level. 'Well, wait right here; we have a special surprise for you!'

Hurrying back to the galley, he searched the trolley for two plastic tall glasses.

'What are you doing?' Molly hissed angrily, her hands on her hips.

He winked at her and plucked the bottle of champagne from the cooler. 'Trust me.'

She opened her mouth to say something else, likely some words that would singe his ears, but he had already turned away and was striding back toward the couple.

'To the blushing bride,' he declared and popped the bottle's cork one-handed, hurrying to catch the foaming liquid in the glasses. Helen gasped in exaggerated delight and eagerly reached for her glass.

Sherlock watched as they toasted themselves and just as they lifted their glasses to their lips, he said, 'May your fiance never find you're shagging someone else on the side.'

Helen spewed champagne all over her lap. Tom choked on his sip and his eyes watered as he coughed. 'Wh-what?!'

'Oh, should I not have said anything?' Sherlock feigned concern and laid a hand over his heart.

'That's not true, h-how dare you say such a thing!' Helen shouted angrily, but her eyes darted about in panic.

Sherlock gave her a knowing look. 'So, was it the best man who gave you that hickey you're so desperately trying to hide beneath pressed powder?' The fiance looked at her neck and his face grew red with rage. Sherlock tsked. 'Next time, try an oil-based concealer.'

'I knew it,' Tom spat. 'You cheating slag. I should have known, a leopard doesn't change it's spots.'

He threw his cup to the floor and hastily unbuckled. Sherlock stepped back and watched in amusement as Tom climbed clumsily over his furious soon-to-be-ex-fiancee.

'You're one to talk! Or have you forgotten how many times you felt me up while dating your ickle Molly-kins?!' Helen snapped and railed at him as he stormed off the plane. The other passengers craned over each other trying to see out the left windows as the shouting couple rushed toward the terminal, only to be intercepted by security.

Sherlock gleefully pulled their bags from the overhead bin and tossed them out onto the tarmac, waving to the squabbling couple with a mocking grin before sauntering back into the galley.

John was practically beaming, a proud look on his face. But Sherlock's focus was all on Molly.

Her shining brown eyes were wide and filled with gratitude.

She leaned up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 'Thank you.'

Sherlock could feel his face burning and only just restrained himself from touching his cheek. 'You're welcome, Molly.'

A becoming blush stained her cheeks and she smiled, before busying herself preparing the galley for take-off. Sherlock wondered how any man could ever bring himself to hurt her, especially to cheat on her with someone who was far inferior to the sweet flight attendant. Tom was clearly an absolute idiot to not see what a rare jewel he'd had in Molly. Why, if she was Sherlock's fiance-

'Come on, Captain,' John's voice pulled Sherlock out of his wayward thoughts. 'Let's get this flight back on track.'

Sherlock followed dumbly. When he reached the cockpit door, he paused and looked over his shoulder. Molly glanced up from her work and caught his gaze, a smile spreading across her face and making her eyes sparkle.

Sherlock gave her a sharp nod before turning away. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, wondering at the sudden racing of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you are all still hanging on for the ride! Things are going to start to come to a tipping point... :)


	11. April

**APRIL**

Sherlock sighed heavily and scowled as he surveyed the interlopers in his flat. White and purple balloons were scattered around, streamers hung from every doorway and the fireplace mantle, and a giant banner covered his flight-plan wall boasting in large bold letters  **CONGRATULATIONS MARY & JOHN!**

‘They’re pretty cute, aren’t they?’

Sherlock glanced down in surprise to see Molly had come to stand beside him. She was absolutely adorable (he paused at the word, but found it was indeed fitting) in a yellow shift with a headband of flowers on her braided hair. Regretfully tearing his eyes from her, he followed her gaze to where Mary and John were canoodling in the middle of the room as the guests tapped their silverware on their glasses. John held a glass of wine in one hand and held Mary close with the other, tenderly and almost reverently. That, combined with Mary’s flattering, empire-waisted dress and opaque cup filled with most-likely water, pointed to one logical conclusion. Their attempts at preventing merging their gene pools had failed. He smirked to himself and brought his thoughts back to Molly’s comment disguised as a question.

‘’Cute’ is a relative term. As compared to a hideously deformed corpse, yes, they could be described as cute.’ He refused to acknowledge his earlier description of her as ‘adorable’; surely there would be no comparison.

‘Even as I said it, I realized I was speaking to the wrong person,’ she mumbled and took a sip of champagne. Her eyes sparkled in mirth and Sherlock found himself smiling for the first time since John had told him they were hosting a party.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ He swirled his whiskey and took a healthy gulp. 

Molly nodded and beamed widely. ‘I love parties! And engagements! And John and Mary, of course,’ she added with a wry smile. ‘I was so happy to hear you popped the question.’

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably under her amused stare. ‘Ah, I see he told you about that.’

Molly giggled behind her hand. ‘Mary called me the moment you left the restaurant. Did you really ask her for him?’

‘He was taking too long! It was painful to listen,’ Sherlock defended himself. ‘He kept fidgeting and stumbling over his words.’

‘So you obviously had no choice but to turn around and say, ‘For God’s sake, John, spit it out! How hard is it to propose, really? Even  _ I  _ can do it: Mary, John wants to spend the rest of his mundane life with you. What say you?’’

Of course she would repeat it back verbatim. Sherlock averted his eyes and busied himself with the whiskey bottle, pouring in another three fingers. Molly gave up the pretense of subtlety and laughed outright. He scowled and tossed the burning liquid back in one swoop. 

‘Might want to watch that,’ Molly warned, her joking tone laced with concern. 

‘My last one, promise.’ To his surprise, he meant it. 

She nodded and turned to leave, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She turned back in surprise.

‘I never did apologize for that night in Paris,’ Sherlock spoke softly. Molly’s eyes followed him as he moved to stand in front of her, keeping their conversation private. He paused for a moment and drew his finger along the rim of his empty glass. ‘I don’t know why I lost my head so completely and I regret that you were hurt by my thoughtless words. Especially when you gave me such a perfect gift.’

Her lips quirked up and she glanced over at the skull sitting on the mantle just behind her, Sherlock’s hat perched cockeyed on it.

She laid her hand on his arm. ‘Thank you, Sherlock. I forgave you a long time ago, but the words are nice to hear.’

‘Really?’

She looked at him with an indistinguishable look on her face; as if she were simultaneously sad and fond. ‘That’s what friends do.’

His breath caught when she lifted herself up and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. He closed his eyes and gripped his glass hard, breathing in deeply of her soft floral perfume and the underlying scent he’d come to associate only with her. 

‘Friends,’ he agreed. Though the word seemed hardly enough.

oOo

Sherlock shoved his hands into his hoodie and turned his head away from the early-spring chilly breeze as he headed into the hangar. The airport was closed, moonlight shining across the runways, a calm settled across the field that could only be found at night. 

They’d all had a long week, barely managing to maintain their sleep requirements between jobs. Mycroft had given everyone the weekend off and declined any jobs that came through. A generous reward from a usual domineering tycoon. Though Sherlock suspected his brother’s generosity was less about his employees and more about the Icy ATC Commander who also happened to have the weekend off. Sherlock assumed it would only be a matter of weeks until Mycroft announced his relationship with Anthea (though most everyone already knew). 

But with everyone out, John and Mary taking over the flat at 221B with wedding preparations and pre-marital bickering, Sherlock sought solitude and the calm that only MARTA could bring. 

He slipped inside MARTA’s hangar and breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the wind. To his surprise, the flight deck light was on. He walked around the plane and loped up the open stairs two at a time. The door to the cockpit was cracked and he gently pushed it open to reveal an intruder hunched over in his seat. 

A familiar intruder. He crossed his arms and leaned against the bulkhead.

‘Entertaining flights of fancy?’ 

Molly gasped in surprise and spun around. Her face coloured in guilt. ‘Sherlock! What-what are you doing here?’

He pursed his lips in a pout and dropped into John’s seat. ‘John and Mary had a row in our flat. I needed the space.’ He waved a hand when she grew concerned. ‘They’ll be fine; John left his towel on the floor of the bathroom again. They’ll fight for a bit, but inevitably spend the remainder of the night ‘making up’. It’s no wonder Mary’s in the family way.’

Molly laughed softly at his grimace. 

Sherlock smiled. ‘So, I’d ask what you are doing here, but I think that’s fairly obvious.’

She bit her lip and looked down at her lap, the thick manual that lay open, covered in her personal notations. A pen stuck out of her hair bun and she was wearing a pair of thick glasses. Sherlock blinked in surprise to find that, instead of hindering her eyes, they only seemed to emphasize their beauty; wide and guileless brown eyes that faded into a gentle hazel around the edges.

‘Mycroft said it would be fine, to see it all first hand, so long as I don’t turn it on,’ she said wryly. Clutching the manual to her chest, she looked out the front with wonder on her face. Sherlock wondered what she was seeing past the bulkheads and metal doors; if, like him, she saw endless skies and the world at her fingertips.

Taking the co-pilot’s seat, Sherlock asked, ’When are you taking the test?’

‘Next month.’ She worried her lip and her brow furrowed. Taking her glasses off, she rubbed the red spots on the side of her nose and sighed. Sherlock saw the tired lines around her eyes, the defeat in her shoulders, and knew she was pushing herself too hard.

‘Give me the book.’ He held out his hand and gave her a no-nonsense glare. Molly stared at him in surprise, but surrendered the manual. She watched him warily as he flipped through the pages, not a single page was clear of highlights and notes in the corners. Clearing his throat, he read aloud, ‘ _ Deviation error of the magnetic compass is caused by what external force? _ ’ 

Molly frowned in bemusement. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Helping you study.’ He glanced over at her and tried not to think about how her wide brown eyes were making him feel soft inside. 

The corners of her lips tipped up in a surprised smile and he quickly dropped his eyes to the book. Forcing himself to adopt the fearsome scowl his own piloting instructor had worn, he tapped his finger against the page expectantly. ‘Quickly now.’


	12. May · Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the love, kudos, and comments! We are in the final hurdle of this quirky AU and I'm so glad you are along for the ride! ❤

**MAY PART I**

Mycroft swept into the conference room and immediately every eye turned toward him. This was not just any normal briefing. He stood behind the head chair, breathed in deeply, and said with all the solemnity of a funeral director, ‘We have a Code Silver.’

Sherlock grimaced.

John visibly relaxed.

Anthea beamed.

Molly frowned. ‘Erm, what’s a Code Silver?’

All eyes turned to her. Mycroft raised one eyebrow. ‘We have been hired to fly the heads of a local company from Fitton to Boston. This company is formidable, overbearing, and absolutely unbearable. You know the drill. File the flight plan as soon as possible, Sherlock. Mr Watson, you’re in charge of purchasing the proper food and wines, a task we all know Sherlock cannot handle.’ He then turned to Anthea, who dimpled under his stare. ‘My dear, would it be terribly forward of me to ask you to assist on what is supposed to be your week off?’

‘Not at all,’ she demurred, sending him a wink. 

Sherlock gagged.

Mycroft ignored him and finally relaxed ever so slightly. ‘Wonderful. I will need you to pull some strings to get us top priority in Boston. Nothing less than VIP status.’

Molly’s eyes widened and she looked around. ‘Wow! Who are these people?’

‘The most terrifying people you will ever meet,’ Sherlock grumbled, slouching in his seat and crossing his arms.

‘His mummy and daddy,’ John snickered. Sherlock stuck his tongue out at his friend.

Molly gaped, her eyes dancing between the Holmes brothers, as though unsure who to finally settle upon for answers. 

‘Yes, we will be flying Mummy and Father to Boston for a long weekend so they can dance the Conga with other elderly folks who are mentally trapped in the 1960s.’ Mycroft sat down and pulled out a folder from his case. 

‘Wait a minute,’ Molly interrupted, finally having found her voice. ‘Your  _ parents _ … as in a man and woman-’

‘Of course, a man and a woman, Miss Hooper,’ Mycroft cut her off smoothly and continued to peruse his papers. ‘From where did you believe Sherlock and I came?’

‘I just assumed you both sprung fully-formed, perfect and brilliant and arrogant, from, like, the head of Zeus or something.’ She waved her hands helplessly, a wry smile on her face. Sherlock snorted and she counted it a victory when his frown lifted and he uncrossed his arms. 

Mycroft rolled his eyes. ‘I assure you, we did not. Now, shall we get down to the mission at hand?’

oOo

To Molly’s complete shock, the Parental Holmeses, though as brilliant and aesthetically symmetrical as their sons, were warm and genial, quite  _ unlike  _ their sons at times. They were halfway through the flight, somewhere over the ocean, and Molly was already wishing it would take longer. She could not remember the last time she had enjoyed her job so much. With only Mr and Mrs Holmes as their official passengers, she found herself chatting with them for hours about anything and everything. Mycroft and Anthea sat toward the back, both of them appearing to be filling out paperwork and discussing serious matters. Molly smirked to herself. She couldn’t read lips, but she would bet pounds to pasties they weren’t discussing anything related to business. 

Sherlock had come by more often than was normal and definitely more agitated than normal. Molly put it down to the long flight and the stress of a ‘Code Silver.’

Their conversation was briefly interrupted by Sherlock’s announcement that the latest bout of turbulence had passed. Molly took the opportunity to unbuckle and gather some of the special wine John had commandeered.

She was just about to uncork the expensive looking vintage when a voice spoke from right behind her.

‘He’s ever so taken with you, you know.’ 

Molly nearly dropped the bottle. Clutching it safely to her chest, she spun around to find Mrs Holmes looming in the doorway. ‘I-I-I’m sorry?’

‘My son, the oblivious one, Sherlock,’ Mrs Holmes spoke slowly. ‘He’s in love with you.’

‘What? No, that’s-just no,’ she tried to laugh it off, but only managed a pained grimace. 

Mrs Holmes sighed and tsked. ‘He’s a thick-headed clot. And either he believes he does not deserve you or that he has somehow lost his chance-aah, I see. That foolish boy has hurt you, hasn’t he?’ 

As observant as her sons, that one. Molly knew Mrs Holmes had seen some sign on Molly’s face. ‘He didn’t-I mean, it was a while ago. I’ve forgiven him. But I’m not,  _ he’s _ not- we’re just friends.’ Her stumbling words sounded defensive to her own ears and she bit her tongue, doing her best to will away the red in her cheeks.

‘Molly, I know that boy better than anyone else in the world.’ Mrs Holmes stared at her with those blue-green eyes that were mirrors of Sherlock’s. Molly gulped. ‘If you just give him one tiny signal that his feelings are still reciprocated, I think you will find that you are not  _ just friends _ .’

Then, with a knowing smile, Mrs Holmes disappeared back into the cabin, leaving Molly staring at the empty spot, still holding the bottle of wine.


	13. May · Part II

**MAY PART II**

Everyone else had gone home, agreeing to leave the clean up for the next day. Only Molly and Sherlock remained as they helped the elder Holmes load their luggage into the boot of their car. 

‘Yes, yes, I promise to come visit soon,’ Sherlock lamented.

‘Not good enough, William Sherlock. There’s a lovely little theatre troupe performing a weekend show next month. I fully expect you to accompany me and your father.’ Mummy pulled him into a bone-crushing hug and kissed his cheek, before he could even form a groaning word to get himself out of it. ‘I’ll make sure Mycie gives you the right day off this time.’

Sherlock squinched his face in protest. She’d caught on to that the second time he tried to pull a ‘Mycroft scheduled a client that day’ excuse and never let him forget it.

He breathed a sigh of relief when she let him go. He rubbed his chest and pouted, but accepted the handshake from his father while Mummy practically fell over herself saying goodbye to Molly.

‘I’m so glad the boys have you up there with them,’ Mummy gushed and they hugged tightly. Molly beamed, a pleased blush on her cheeks. ‘And we’re still on for coffee Thursday morning?’

Molly nodded eagerly. ‘I’ll be there with bells on! Well, maybe not bells, but…’ She trailed off with a laugh. 

Mummy laughed and hugged her again. 

‘I suspect we’re going to be seeing a lot of Molly from now on,’ Papa commented happily. ‘Once your mother decides to like someone, she won’t let go for the world.’

Instead of feeling annoyed at the thought of his mother befriending Molly, Sherlock found himself pleased. A warmth spread out across his chest as he watched them get on, making plans and grinning at each other like old friends.

‘It looks like Molly will be here to stay.’ Papa looked at him knowingly. Sherlock looked away from the women and into his father’s knowing eyes. 

‘Yes, I believe she is,’ Sherlock agreed, much to his father’s pleased surprise.

oOo

Mummy waved out the window as Papa pulled the car out of the lot. Molly waved enthusiastically back and shouted, ‘See you Thursday!’

Sighing happily, she watched the car turn around the bend and disappear. ‘They’re lovely. Absolutely lovely.’

Sherlock hummed a noncommittal agreement. Which he knew that  _ she _ knew was only partly sincere. 

Silence fell between them as they stood there, awkwardly, in the middle of the carpark, each glancing out the other of the corners of their eyes. 

Molly finally took a deep breath and turned toward him. Sherlock mirrored her movement and looked down at her expectantly. She was biting her lip and clearly gathering her courage for something.

‘I was wondering,’ she began hesitantly, ‘if maybe you would, and you can say no…’ She was rambling again and he found himself smiling fondly. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. ‘But would you like to have dinner? Tonight.’

‘Dinner,’ he echoed. ‘As in…’

‘A date.’

Sherlock stared down at her. She was trying to be so brave, but he could see the fear of rejection in her wide eyes. She clenched her hands in front of her and bit her lip. 

Until this trip, he’d not given any thought to the growing feelings he held toward Molly. Then he’d spent literally days with nothing on his mind, aside from flying, but her. And what he was going to do. He wanted… he didn’t know what he wanted. Her. That much he knew. But he’d messed up so cruelly and it had taken them so long to build a new friendship that he didn’t dare hope for more. Now, faced with the opportunity, he knew there was only one answer he could give.

_ I’d love to. _

He opened his mouth. The words were on the tip of his tongue. But then a movement behind her caught his eye and he looked over her shoulder and noticed someone approaching them from the hangar. His blood ran cold. 

Irene.

‘Excuse me,’ he blurted out. He started to leave, but paused and looked her directly in the eye. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

She opened her mouth to say something, confusion and hurt on her face. But he was already running to intercept the interloper.

Irene strolled up to him, her mini skirt riding up her thighs with each step. 'Mr Holmes,' she said seductively, her voice dripping with sin. 

'Irene,' Sherlock greeted her coolly. 'I gather Karachi has lost its splendor.' 

'Mmm, but what a splendor it was,' she laughed deep and low. She looked at him with a hooded gaze. ‘Did you miss me?’

Sherlock didn’t flinch when she trailed a finger up his arm. ‘No.’

She mock pouted. ‘Now, don’t say anything you don’t mean, Sherlock.’

Leaning on her toes, she pursed her lips. He did nothing to deter her; if anything, she liked a good game of catch. It was her foreplay. And he did not want to encourage her cat-like tendency to chase her prey. The moment her painted lips touched his cheek, Molly's face flashed through his mind and he stepped back.

He glared at her. 'If I were disinterested in you before, I am suitably repulsed now.' 

His words did nothing to curb her attempts to seduce him. But then she froze, her eyes flicking over his shoulder. 

'Yes, I can see I've wasted my time,' she pouted. 'Who is that darling thing you've replaced me with?' 

Sherlock frowned as a frisson of unease shook him. 'None of your business.' 

Irene simply smiled knowingly and indicated with a nod behind him. He turned and his stomach dropped to his feet. Practically running toward her car was the hunched form of Molly Hooper. From all indications, she had drawn her own erroneous conclusion from the situation. 

Sherlock cursed. 

'Should I expect a happy announcement soon?' Irene teased. 

Sherlock ignored her and sprinted after Molly, who had jumped into her car and was already shifting into reverse. Irene's laughter followed him. 'Molly! Damn it, Molly, wait!' 

By the time he reached the gate, she had sped away, disappearing around the corner. 

He stared after her. 

It was all over before it had even begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...did I not mention it was a three-parter? *creepy Sherlock grin*


	14. May · Part III

**MAY PART III**

Mycroft folded his hands over his desk and considered her with a discerning eye. ‘There is nothing I can say to change your mind, I take it?’

Molly shook her head. ‘I cannot thank you enough for everything you have done for me. But it’s time I moved on.’

‘You have another position lined up then.’

Her momentary flicker of panic was all the answer he needed to his baited statement.

‘Miss Hooper, I do not know what has transpired between yourself and my idiot of a brother, but surely this is not in either of your best interests. Pardon my bluntness, but I see how much you care for him. And, despite what you have been trying to tell yourself otherwise, he cares just as much for you.’

A blush stained her cheeks, but she lifted her chin up, determination in her eyes. ‘My feelings were never a secret, Mr Holmes. It’s his that you are mistaken about. And it’s time I accepted that.’

oOo

‘What do you mean, she’s leaving?’ Sherlock bellowed.

Mycroft busied himself straightening the papers on his desk. ‘Just what I said, don’t make me repeat it.’

‘But-but why?’

‘I assume it has to do with why I received a text from Anthea the other day saying Irene Adler had arrived on a charter flight from Karachi.’ He gave his brother a pointed look.

Sherlock growled and dragged his hands through his hair. ‘Bloody woman misunderstood the whole situation!’

Mycroft sighed as if disinterested (which he most certainly was not). ‘Well, do try to clear it up. I would hate to lose Molly because you couldn’t keep it in your trousers.’

The slam of his office door was the only reply to his barb.

oOo

**_Bing Bong_ **

_‘Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain, Sherlock Holmes. If you don’t know the usual Captain’s monologue by now, the person beside you can fill you in. Short version: buckle up, tray up, seat up, and shut up. Miss Hooper, a word please.’_

**_Bing Bong_ **

_‘Now.’_

oOo

The door to the cockpit opened and they both turned expectantly to Molly.

‘Hello,’ she greeted them briefly, flashing John a small smile, but refusing to make eye contact with Sherlock.

John looked between the two and excused himself. ‘Well, I’m going to pop off to the loo; too much coffee this morning.’

Sherlock tried not to resent the way Molly widened her eyes in panic and watched John leave, almost helplessly. He stood, having to bend slightly to not hit his head on the low ceiling.

‘You’re leaving.’ He hadn’t intended to sound so accusing, but he felt betrayed and it came out rather harsh.

Molly finally met his eyes. ‘Yes. I am,’ she affirmed, as if daring him to defy her.

‘If this is because of the other day-’

‘It’s because I need to move on, Captain Holmes,’ she interrupted sharply. Sherlock eyed her warily. The abruptness of her departure had everything to do with Irene and where she thought they stood.  

‘Molly, I need to explain what you saw-’

‘There’s nothing to explain,’ she interrupted and brushed down the front of her skirt with shaking hands. ‘I misinterpreted something and that’s my issue, not yours. It has nothing to do with my decision to leave. So there is nothing left to talk about.’

_Lying._ The accusing word was practically stamped across her forehead.

Sherlock nearly growled in frustration. ‘That woman was Irene Adler, she was the flight attendant-’

‘-before me, yeah, John filled me in,’ Molly interrupted. She bit her lip, her cheeks flushed red, and she was clearly more angry with herself than with him. Sherlock found himself at a loss at the thought. ‘What he neglected to mention was that she had returned and the two of you had, erm, picked up where you left off.’

Sherlock’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline and he stepped closer. ‘No, that’s-’

‘But, like I said, it’s none of my business and by next week you’ll have Irene back on board and I’ll be gone.’ She flashed him a bright, fake smile and spun around. She jerked open the door and strode out, giving a haughty glare to John, who jumped back and tried to pretend he hadn’t been eavesdropping.

‘What happened?’

Sherlock shoved past him and followed Molly into the galley. ‘I don’t want you gone,’ he snapped. ‘I want you here. Right here. In my plane.’

_‘My_ plane,’ Mycroft corrected from the entrance.

Sherlock ignored the interruption and crowded behind Molly as she bustled about putting together the cart, her hands shaking.

‘Molly, will you just stop!’

‘I have to prep the drinks and give the pre-flight instructions, Captain,’ her voice shook as badly as her hands. ‘Shouldn’t you be doing the walk around?’

‘Yes, Sherlock, do not delay the flight even further,’ Mycroft admonished.

‘It’s already been done.’ Sherlock shoved past him and followed Molly into the cabin, where she pulled the lever to retract the stairs. The door shut and latched, the airtight seal working to stabilize the interior. ‘Molly, listen to me-’

Both were unaware that they now had the undivided attention of not only Mycroft and John, but the full complement of passengers aboard their small airplane.

Furious, Molly whirled about and glared at him. ‘I’ve done enough listening to you, Captain! I thought-I don’t know what I thought, but the other night was very revealing as to exactly where we stand. So if you would please, _get out of my way!_ ’

Though just five foot four with heels on, she glared up at him with a ferocity that made Sherlock feel about three inches tall. He’d cocked this up, but he’d be damned if he let her go over a misunderstanding and his own stupidity.

_If only she would just listen for one second!_

‘No.’ He stood his ground and glared right back at her. ‘Not until I’ve had my say. You may have made up your mind already, but you’re wrong, and I’m trying to clear this mess up.’

‘There’s nothing to clear up, I got your message loud and clear, _Captain,_ ’ she snapped. Her glare threatened to burn him to the ground.

‘For the love of aerodynamics, Molly!’ he finally bellowed in exasperation. _‘I’m trying to tell you that I bloody love you!_ ’

Her eyes widened to cartoonish proportions and the plane descended into a stunned silence as he grabbed her arms and hauled her against him, planting what he considered to be a passionate, scorching kiss on her lips.

Utterly stunned, she was limp in his hold, her eyes blinking back at him as she tried to understand what was happening. But then, to his great relief, her eyes fluttered and she melted into his kiss. Her body relaxed and her arms slid up around his shoulders, anchoring her to him.

‘I love you, too,’ she whispered when they finally broke apart, both oblivious to the cheers and _awws_ from John and their passengers and the fond eyeroll from Mycroft. She smiled up at him shyly, a twinkle in her eye. ‘You clot.’

The fond way she said it made him smile. And if he thought his kiss had been passionate, when she pulled his head down and crushed her lips to his, his legs nearly buckled and it was as if he’d ceded control of the throttle and was just along for the ride.

And with Molly in his arms, he knew it was going to be an amazing ride.


	15. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short time jump and a mini epilogue before the Final Epilogue!

**AUGUST**

‘Good morning, gentlemen!’ Molly breezed into the flight deck with coffees and a smile. John blinked at her blearily and accepted the cup of coffee with a grunt. 

‘Long night with the baby?’ Molly asked. John nodded and she pursed her lips sympathetically. ‘Poor things.’

Sherlock cleared his throat impatiently and raised his eyebrows. Molly giggled and handed him his cup. ‘Patience is a virtue, Captain Holmes.’

She made to leave, but his hand shot out and she squealed as she tumbled into his lap. Happily sandwiched between his chest and the throttle, she wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘This is less than professional, Sherlock.’

‘I’m not interested in patience nor professionalism, Molly. I’m more interested in having my morning coffee and a kiss.’ 

Molly narrowed her eyes at him, before a teasing glint came into her eye. He pursed his lips expectantly, but she ducked and pecked his cheek, instead. He growled and she pecked his other cheek. 

‘Stop teasing and kiss me proper.’

‘For the love of all things holy,  _ kiss the man! _ ’ John grumbled, utterly sickened by the display beside him.

Molly stuck her tongue out at him. Taking advantage of her brief distraction, Sherlock leaned forward and kissed her good and proper. 

‘Thank you for the coffee,’ he murmured. 

She smiled and ran her finger along the rim of his hat. ‘My pleasure, Captain.’


	16. Epilogue · November

**EPILOGUE: NOVEMBER**

Sherlock angrily switched off the radio. ‘Seven circuits! Bloody hell!’

It had been a long flight from the U.S. and his patience was running as low as their fuel. And now ATC had placed them at the back of the queue. Well, not ATC specifically. _Grisham_. Sherlock scowled and made a vicious promise to get even with the man.

‘Probably revenge for that stunt you pulled with Mary at Mycroft’s wedding.’ His First Mate paused in the process of checking the fuel line and looked over at him knowingly. ‘Did you really expect Greg to let it go?’

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pouted. ‘It was just a little harmless fun, Molly. What else was there to do at the wedding of the Ice Queen and the British Airways?’

Exasperated, Molly rolled her eyes in a perfect mimicry of him. It would be pointless to argue. Instead, she straightened her cap, which sat perched perfectly atop her braided head, and smiled smugly. ‘Just shut up and watch how it’s done.’ Flicking the radio back on, she leaned forward. ‘ATC, this is Mike Alpha Romeo Tango Alpha.’

‘Wa-hey! Is that you, Molly? Didn’t know you were up there with His Nibs,’ the jovial ATC officer interrupted, much more genial than he’d been minutes earlier when Sherlock had radioed in. Too genial, in fact.

Sherlock scowled and opened his mouth to tell the silver-haired he-devil to not even _think_ about flirting with his co-pilot/girlfriend, but Molly was faster and slapped her hand over his mouth.

‘Someone has to look after him and John’s got a different baby to look after this weekend.’

Gerardo laughed as Sherlock grumbled against her fingers in offense and she finally took her hand away.

‘Listen, Greg,’ Molly said in her _I know exactly how to play the strings of your heart_ tone. Sherlock knew that tone. That tone was how he found himself sharing a flat with a 3-stone tabby cat who had a fetish for his pilot's hat. ‘Would you mind putting us in the front of the queue? We’re pretty low on fuel and our passengers are nearly empty of patience. We hit a rough patch over the ocean and lost about an hour. We could really use your help on this one. Please?’ Even though ATC couldn’t see her, Molly’s eyes were wide and hopeful, her voice sweet as honey. Even Sherlock was melting.

There was a muffled sound as Lestrade covered his mic. Several moments passed before he came back. ‘One more circuit and you’re clear to land on runway 3,’ he announced brightly, but then lowered his voice to a theatre whisper. ‘Just don’t tell Anderson over at DonovanAir; he’ll be pissed if he found out I switched your spots.’

Oh, this was too good. ‘Thanks, Greg! You’re the best!’ Signing off, she looked over at Sherlock with a wide smile, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Sherlock thought she could not possibly look any more beautiful. ‘Hurry up and land this bloody thing so I can kiss you.’

Her bright, unfettered laughter rang through the flightdeck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and flying with us! :) And again, a million thanks to lilsherlockian1975 for being an amazing Beta-love ya!
> 
> That's the end of our flight into the Cabin Pressure universe. I hope you have all had a wonderful trip. And please come again. 
> 
> It's been, in the words of Arthur Shappey, BRILLIANT!


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